


A Swirl of Red Satin

by Quillaninc



Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Dark, Gen, Graphic Violence, Voltron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillaninc/pseuds/Quillaninc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allura smiled her soft, genteel smile. "I am what you've made me," she told him softly, her voice pitched just as sweetly for him as it had been for Lotor when he had come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Swirl of Red Satin

The scent of roses hung heavily in the air of a nearly moonless night. The grassy slope leading towards the woodland edge was damp as it muffled her slow, steady stride. Her skirts clung to her ankles, but she did not mind; it was a pleasant enough night, after all.

Allura smiled softly to herself. Nights like this, with the sky so clear above her, stars shimmering brightly, were a quiet blessing in these times of never ending war. The shadows of the forest were calling her, enticing her, and it was there she would find her solace, just as she always had on such nights. Her feet easily found the path that would take her deep to the forest's heart.

The night creatures did not bother her, and the way was so familiar, she didn't miss a single step. The rustling sounds in the bushes, the calls of night birds overhead, the scents that only night can bring, all comforted her, engulfed her, easing her troubled heart. As she grew closer to her special place, she heard the noises of an intruder. Her smile broadened. It was all as it should be.

He was there, just as she expected him to be, crouched over the figure of the first still lying propped against the tree; his hands were reaching for the glowing ball that hung between them. Its light shone golden, bright, a treasure of power. She stood back, waiting, waiting for the trap to spring. She had wondered what would lure him to this deadliest of places. She should have guessed it was his greed. With the first, it was his lust; with the second, it would be his greed.

She could only see the tiniest glimpses from within the spell, just enough for her to know of the untold power, the outrageous wealth promised to the seeker. His expression was virtually ravenous as his fingertips slipped into the glowing light. It stayed that way for just a moment, his eyes bright with victory, triumph clear across his rugged face.

His delight was short lived. Confusion turned to fear turned to dread as the power of the spell overtook him. He tried to drag his hands away, but the paralysing numbness continued to creep up his arms, until her spell held him fast. It was then, and only then, that she knew it was safe to approach.

Her foot found a twig and cracked it deliberately. Cossack looked up sharply, his eyes widening briefly when he spotted her. For a moment he stared at her, then down at the ball of light that had trapped him. He hardly spared a glance for the dead Prince he had sought to plunder.

It didn't take him long to work it out. "You bitch!" he snarled.

Allura smiled her soft, genteel smile. It belied the callousness of her eyes as she carefully drew an ornate, sacrificial knife from the folds of her gown. "I am what you've made me," she told him softly, her voice pitched just as sweetly for him as it had been for Lotor when he had come.

There was nothing he could do as she approached, the spell holding him completely powerless. The blade was sharp and cool, its handle warm and comforting in her grasp. It sliced cleanly across his throat, his last gasping breath bubbling up to become a sickly froth where it mingled with the blood that streamed down his neck. His eyes stared at her, at first in shocked horror, then slowly fading. And then he was gone.

She wiped the blade carefully on his clothes until she was sure it was quite clean. Then she released the spell with a quiet word, and his body slumped forward over the Prince's. With a practised hand, she reset the trap in readiness for its next victim. She didn't need to worry about some unfortunate local stumbling across it; even if she had not expressly forbidden entrance to this part of the forest, the spell would only work on the darkest of hearts.

A nearby stream washed the blood from her hands, and the dark, dark red of her gown would hide its new patterns for the time being, just as it had done in the past.

The walk to the castle was a pleasant one, but the family crypt felt icy cold. Then again, it usually did at this time of night. It chilled her skin as her gown slipped to the floor, allowing her to change into the dress Nanny preferred her to wear. Carefully, reverently, she folded the heavy satin, admiring the way the wall lights shone on the fabric and brought out the dark new patterns tonight's journey had gifted her.

The lid of her father's casket opened with ease, the gown and the blade finding their place with a quiet prayer. Then the casket lid was closed again with a soft 'Goodnight, Father', and a promise to bring him more, very soon.

Her tread so much lighter, she slipped into the rose gardens and danced along the path whilst humming a silly, nonsensical tune to herself. One of the guards on the late shift called out a greeting, and she smiled back and waved as brightly as she ever had.

She slept that night, the deep, deep sleep that only these nights could offer.

These dark, nearly moonless nights.


End file.
